Treading Nuances
by Shinnscape
Summary: A small series of various events that seem to correlate but don't actually intertwine (maybe). Warning, I tend to dabble in the dark side. Multiple pairings and some content that may rub people the wrong way. Short stories.
1. Burning forever

**Author's Note:** For some time I've fought with myself over posting these — I'm actually not that big on Xiaolin Showdown anymore. Still, I write for it from time to time, mostly for friends. Why not post here, too?

There are two more drabbles besides this one, but I can't guarantee continuance after that, so please don't ask! I'm also not currently taking XS prompts. Enjoy?

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Chase Young - evil prince of darkness, the master of all evil, and great warlord of ancient AND modern China - is at a loss. But, really, this is one of the most…peculiar happenings in all of his fifteen hundred plus years of living.

There must be one hundred - no, one thousand candles littering his inner citadel. Candles of all sizes, smell, and color line the floors, shelves, stairs, and walkways like a plague upon the senses…It is especially painful for Chase, whose own senses are VERY much enhanced, thanks to the deal he made with Hannibal, thousands of moons ago.

But, yes…Candles. So many, many candles (but luckily, none are lit) and Chase Young is rendered **speechless**.

At first, he tries to walk (not tiptoe, because he is a warlord, damn it) around and through the sea of candles, but quickly forfeits the effort in favor of hovering over them. Taken aback at the new view, he flies a bit higher, staring down with wide eyes at the sea of colors below.

Yep. Still at a loss.

Then, he spots something different. Admittedly, it's not very difficult. It's the only rectangle-shaped object in a midst of circles. In a flash, he's flown over to the small object, which is seated rather brazenly before the entryway to his throne room. Upon closer inspection, it's a small card - a note. Handwritten, by the looks of it.

The Heylin master picks it up, eyebrow raised in utter curiosity.

The letter reads as followed, in barely legible chicken scratch writing:

**Dear Chase,**

_These candles are like my utter devotion - a bit overwhelming, but endless! You could burn every candle to the wick before I ever give up - so…Okay, who am I kidding, I can't write poetry and love letters. You're awesome, here's some candles._

_PS, Don't kill me!_

**_Jack Spicer XOXOXOXO —Evil_**

Face absolutely flat of expression, Chase carefully slides the note into the side of his sash, turning in an about-face to look once more upon the sea of candles.

"We'll see, Spicer. For your sake…" His eyes narrow, the golden orbs gleaming with the promise of possible malice. "There had better. Be. Pomegranate."


	2. Not Fair (As Usual)

I meant to update sooner. Here we go! One-sided Chack and implied Chase/Omi, look out.

**Warning:** Pairings are only implied, but it's still implying relationships that involve not one but TWO underage characters.

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**Prompt:** Games

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It's bullshit. It's complete, absolute bullshit, and it's not fair.

_'Story of my life,'_ Jack thinks, arms crossed defensively over his chest, shoulders bunched up. Some gizmo or another lies in front of him at his work desk, as it has done so for the last hour, and he redirects his bitter red gaze from the wall only to make a frustrated swipe at it. The loud _**clank**__-clank_ that follows its descent to the hard basement floor does nothing to sooth Jack's frayed emotions; it only serves to fuel the fire burning up like an inferno within.

He can't remember the last time he was so honestly, truly angry. Not like this.

He needs more violence. It washes over him in a tidal wave of irrational hate and near-blood lust, and he barely notices that he's basically trashing his lab in his sudden temper tantrum until he trips over his own, newly made mess.

The self-proclaimed evil genius doesn't pick himself off the floor right away, his sudden bout of snarling and rabid scorn gone as fast as it had come. All that's left is a cold emptiness that's not unlike the temperature of the icy floor he now lays on.

It's not _fair_.

Jack's pale arms shake a little—more from the newly shaken nerves than lack of strength, Jack is stronger than he looks—and he's barely pushed himself up and onto his knees before turning-about and falling onto his back, instead. Pins and needles rush through his thin red tanktop and into his back, but he quickly adjusts to the coolness of the basement floor. It doesn't take long to go back into his previous line of thought.

Actually, it's practically impossible not to.

Where the nearly uncontrollable rage had been, a numbing sadness plunges deep into his chest and grabs hold, like an unshakeable iron grip.

It's not fair. It's not fair that when he finally starts to do right (or right at doing wrong), Omi is once again the golden apple to Chase's eye. It's not fair that he has to compete with someone half his size and smarts, and be losing so easily. It's not fair that Omi barely notices the length of Chase's attention—barely acknowledges it for the HONOR that it truly is—and Jack is all too aware.

It's not fair that Chase made him think he had a chance.

Pitiful tears begin flooding into his eyes and he lets them; he's already so low, what does it matter if he sinks a bit more.

It's bullshit. It's bullshit, and it's not fair. As usual.


	3. Pestilence (ChaseRaiJack)

**A/N:** None-too-subtle implications ahead, but ultimately safe for…some places. Really short, for a bud. Not a single note about age (but it's better that you don't ask). Implied threesome and stuff. We're all adults here right? Right.

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**_pes·ti·lence_**

_noun_

_1. a deadly or virulent epidemic** disease**. _

_2. bubonic **plague**. _

_3. something that is considered **harmful**, **destructive**, or **evil**. _

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It'd be mortifying - it should, even a week after the fact, be worrisome, at the least - if it wasn't so damn hot to think about.

Raimundo stands before the thin, locker-sized mirror tucked away in his 'room' at the monk temple, naked as the day he was born, save for a pair of undies. But really, even mostly naked, Rai's skin is definitely **covered**.

Covered in love bites and hickies, that is.

Dark tan spots stand from every corner of his being, it seems - some pulsing purple from bruising and others looking rather fresh.

Nibbled tan fingers carefully reach up to a tooth-mark ridden collarbone, shadowing over a particularly dark bite to the flesh before tracing all the way up to the side of his jaw, just under an ear that, not forty eight hours ago, had been tugged and smothered between a pair of the palest, pinkest lips he'd ever seen.

Raimundo swallows at the memory, mouth gone dry, and presses his fingers suddenly to the dark spot hidden just behind his earlobe - barely concealed with hair. One wrong turn of his head around his friends, though…

The Dragon of Wind doesn't know if the thought is terrifying or arousing. Sleeping with not one, but two members of the Heylin force tended to blur particular lines - and crossing said lines was as thrilling as it was impairing to one's (supposedly) good judgement.

Then he remembers the marks Chase left below the line of his underpants, and figures anyone can only put up so much of a fight against a temptation they were never fully against, to begin with.

He and Jack, they're only human; Chase is a force.

That, and the best surprise third of an unexpected threesome.

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I sometimes think about continuing but...for now...


End file.
